


Take me to London

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: A self-indulgent mess, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Beefeater!Ushijima because why not, I make London sound really bad in the summary, Iwaoi going to London, London is actually wonderful, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-11 12:42:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5627083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your life's falling to pieces?<br/>You're in love with your best friend?<br/>You're being forced to give up your dreams?<br/>Then London might just be the place for you!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tea, scones and Buckingham Palace

**Author's Note:**

> Listen,,, I wrote this a really long time ago and basically it's shit but I always hate when other people take their work down, so I guess I'll just leave it up? Just don't judge my other stuff off this

It was a windy day in London, the cold breeze buffeting freezing people back and forth as they nervously made their way through the crowded city. The air smelt like rain and smoke and a thick, grey fog disguised the streets, making it difficult for even locals to go about their daily business without getting lost in the unrecognisable streets. You can imagine how those unfamiliar to the city were faring.

They stood in huddles under the flickering lamp-posts, bent over and practically shaking in fear. Every shadow made them start, their minds running amok with images of criminals jumping out at them. They were in a bad part of town after all.

Only one foreigner stood up straight and tall, one hand in his chocolate-gold hair, the other on the jutting hip bone peeking out from where his shirt had ridden up, revealing a great deal of skin. Everything about him screamed confident as he strolled through the streets, grinning at everyone and everything he came across, even the shivering clusters of tourists. No-one would guess it was Oikawa Tooru’s first time in the city, his anxiety hidden under his huge, charming, FAKE smile. His knee was beginning to hurt from all the walking and his heart was still thumping in his ears, making it impossible to concentrate on anything except the same name playing over and over again in his head, in time to his racing pulse.

_Iwa-chan. Iwa-chan. Iwa-chan. Iwa-chan. Iwa-chan._

He wracked his brains, trying to think of when he saw him last.

Outside of that cafe. The one with the nice cashier. About… fifteen minutes ago, he clarified, glancing down at his watch. Fifteen minutes, an hour what was the difference? He was still lost. Lost in a strange, unfamiliar place. Without Iwa-chan.

Something clicked in his mind. What was it his mother always told him? Stay in the same place and don’t panic. That was probably what Hajime was doing; after all he was the responsible one, according to… well, everyone they knew. So he was still at the cafe. That would make sense - he knew Hajime would stay wherever it was easiest to find him, no matter how much he had claimed to hate the cafe and the cashier working there.

Oikawa turned around and started walking back the way he had come, heart slowing and mind calming a little at the prospect of finding Hajime. Everything really was going to be fine.

Hajime was going crazy, his already-stubby fingernails now tiny jagged slices of pink. He had bitten his thumbnail down so far it had started to bleed, little droplets of red beginning to gather at the nailbed, staining the shredded skin. He was trying to stop, and maybe he’d stand a fighting chance if that idiot stopped getting himself into trouble all the time!

He squeezed his wrist as an attempt to calm himself as he felt panic beginning to set in. Oikawa was strong, sure, but what would he do against one of London’s infamous gangs, or worse yet, a law enforcer? Oikawa’s criminal record was bad enough already (hell, he knew better than anyone), and he was pretty sure the police force wouldn’t appreciate another ‘incident’.

Just as he was about to finally snap and finally go insane ( _Ugh_ , he thought to himself, _Does my last sane thought really have to be about that idiot? Not that all my thoughts haven’t been focused on him since, like, forever. Get out of my head Oikawa!_ ), he spotted a limber figure strolling down the street towards him, hands behind their head in a way that looked way too rehearsed to be natural, like they was trying to cover something up.

Oikawa Tooru himself.

He saw Oikawa look up, worry evident on his face, before his eyes lit up and his face split into one of his rare, genuine smiles. Hajime couldn’t even begin to describe how beautiful Oikawa was when he was truly happy, his face lit up and hazel eyes sparkling- Wait, no. He was ANGRY with Tooru - now was not the time to be fawning over him!

Not that anytime was perfect for nursing an all-consuming crush on his unsuspecting best friend, who just so happened to be as straight as they get. It was ridiculous, how damn attractive Oikawa was. And not just to him - Hajime had been dealing with girls and boys alike throwing themselves at his best friend since the beginning of middle school.

He was used to it, but that didn’t stop him from getting pissed off, like he had with the douchebag cashier from earlier. Who did he think he was? Well, his name tag had read ‘Kuroo’, but that wasn’t the point.

He couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d tried. Was he really that desperate to get in his poor, unsuspecting friend’s pants? He had only stopped when Hajime had reached out a protective arm around Oikawa, pulling him close and staking his claim.

Not that he had any right to do that. They were just friends; best friends really, with a relationship that might be considered weird by some people, but Hajime knew Oikawa felt nothing more than friendship for him.

Oikawa had been oblivious, as per usual, chatting away happily with Kuroo about how old he was, where he was from and whether or not he had a place to stay for the night (that had been where Hajime had stepped in after a very obvious wink from Kuroo). Oikawa could be charming and sweet when he tried, but he had no idea when others attempted to flirt with him. Well, that wasn’t technically true; he could sense almost immediately when a girl liked him (or maybe he’d just got used to almost every girl ever liking him), but he never seemed to realize when a guy was hitting on him. Kind of ironic, considering how often it seemed to happen.

Hajime was snapped out of his daydream when Oikawa barrelled into him at top speed, wrapping him in a tight hug that showed every emotion he had been feeling in his last few panicked minutes, everything he had been hiding behind the tight smile he had on his face as he rounded the corner.

Fear. Worry. Relief. Happiness.

“Iwa-chan,” he heard murmured in his ear, and felt his muscles tense at the sound of his name in that gorgeous, velvety voice. He had heard it an infinite number of times, but it still sent shivers down his spine to hear. He squeezed him as hard as he could, until he heard a squeak of pain and loosened his grip slightly.

“For fuck’s sake Oikawa! What were you thinking, wandering off by yourself?!”  
Oikawa stared at the ground, whispering an apology. Hajime glared at him for a couple of seconds, before sighing and pulling him close again. “Be more careful. You scared me to death.” Oikawa giggled at that.

“Were you worried about me Iwa-chan~? I knew you cared!” Hajime rolled his eyes. Looks like their touching reunion hadn’t dampened his bravado - he guessed that was a bit much to hope for, but a guy can dream.

“Shut up, Trashykawa.”

“You don’t have to shorten the insults!”

“Trashy Oikawa!”

“You don’t need to rephrase it!” Oikawa shrieked indignantly, giving him a little shove, but still staying close. That alone brought a smile to Hajime’s face - even after the mild trauma, Oikawa was just the same as usual. Thank god.

Oikawa sniffed and began to move away , only to be held in place by Hajime’s strong arms.

“You can let go now Iwa-chan.”

Hajime felt pink dust his cheeks as he realized that he was acting a little too much like a lovestruck schoolgirl than really necessary in this situation (or ANY situation).

“Sorry.”

Oikawa shrugged, beaming at him, and Hajime once again found himself impossibly happy that he was okay, and everything was good. Nothing was more painful than watching Oikawa lose himself in an ocean of torment, then give up everything in his struggle to remain in his depth and in control, punishing himself just to keep his head above the waves.

Still, at least he was safe… God, he was so damn happy he was safe.

“Come on Iwa-chan, let’s go to the Science Museum now! I heard they have an incredible space exhibit. Apparently…”

Oikawa’s voice trailed off when he glanced back at Hajime, surprise and then panic distorting his usually cheerful expression.

Hajime frowned in confusion at the look, until he licked his lips, a sharp salty tang filling his mouth.

_Oh._

Oikawa reached out and grasped his friend’s hand, nervously shifting from foot to foot.

“I really am sorry,” he glanced up to see tears still running down Iwaizumi’s face, and felt a stab of anguish at the sight. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Hajime paused to consider what Oikawa was thinking, and it soon occurred to him that Oikawa must think he was crying out of unhappiness, rather than the exact opposite. He guffawed at the misconception that no doubt was making Oikawa feel very, very guilty. Serves him right.

Oikawa looked at Iwaizumi, who was currently unsuccessfully trying to stifle his sniggers with the back of his hand, with a mixture of dubiety and amusement.

“What’s so funny?”

Hajime finally stopped laughing, and snorted out “Nothing. C’mon, let’s go check in the hotel, idiot,” much to Oikawa’s confusion and disgruntlement.

\---

“Iwa-chan! Get up, get up, we’re going to go see Buckingham Palace today!”

Hajime rolled over, groaning as he tried to dislodge the surprisingly heavy setter from his chest. Oikawa continued to chatter in his ear, making it impossible to go back to sleep, or even pretend to be asleep. He was still prepared to try though.

“Iwa-chan~!”

Oikawa shook him enthusiastically, pulling his head off the pillow and shoving it back down again repeatedly.

“GET OFF OF ME!”

“Get up then!” Oikawa shot back with little hesitation. “Don’t be lazy Iwa-chan; we’ll be late, and tardiness is - Ow!”

Hajime watched as Oikawa recoiled, clutching his head where Hajime had hit him just moments before. His lips formed a semi-irritated pout and he opened his eyes extra wide, as if he knew that that shining chocolate brown colour would immediately make him short of breath and force him to look away before he did something very, very stupid.

Either way, it got him out of bed.

Oikawa prattled all the way to the cafe they were eating at about ordering the biggest platter of scones and jam he’d ever seen. He’d also insisted he was going to order ‘English Breakfast Tea’, because “they were in London now, so they should at least act like it.”

Hajime tried to tell him that judging by the Londoners they’d seen so far, the normal breakfast here was a cigarette over a cup of cheap black coffee. The only person who actually drank tea here was probably the Queen herself.

Still, it was hard to voice such harsh (practical) thoughts when Oikawa looked like he was about to explode with anticipation.

“Why are you so happy? You don’t usually get this excited about anything except volley-” Hajime bit back the end of the sentence, but the damage had been done. He saw the flicker of hurt that crossed Oikawa’s features, quickly smothered with another smile.

“It’s not a curse word Iwa-chan. You can say it out loud.”

“I know, but…” Hajime trailed off, fully aware that Oikawa knew exactly what he was talking about, and exactly why he didn’t want to continue this conversation.

Oikawa rolled his eyes, and reached down and pulled the leg of his jeans up over his knee. “See Iwa-chan. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

But his voice broke a little at the end, almost undetectable, but noticeable for Hajime.

Hajime wanted desperately to look away from the knee-supporter, but he found his eyes drawn to it. He recalled feeling the same way when he had first seen Oikawa trying to pull off a jump serve two weeks after the operation, despite the doctor’s orders. He remembered seeing the pain on his best friend’s face as he watched Oikawa’s knee give way beneath him, watched him crash to the ground, the untouched volleyball bouncing away from him along with all cherished hopes of becoming a professional athlete.

Back then, he had raced across the gym to where Oikawa had collapsed, everything inside him screaming to help, to do something, ANYTHING. But a small, cowardly part of him wanted to run, run far away from the Aoba Johsai gym, somewhere where your best friends don’t overwork themselves every goddamn night until three am and push themselves to the brink of exhaustion to achieve their goals, only to shatter their ambitions and childhood dreams that they worked so hard for.

He wanted to get away. But the thing was, if he was going to escape then he’d have to leave Oikawa behind. And even a fucked-up reality with Oikawa was better than one without him.

Everything was not fine, no matter how often he claimed it was. Because if it was fine then Hajime wouldn’t see the intense frustration and sadness that washed over Oikawa’s face before he could hide it everytime he watched their team play from the bench.

He wouldn’t see the tears in his eyes when he watched his collection of old tapes - matches and rivals they had fought in the past. They were always there, no matter how quickly he learned to blink them away.

Sometimes he managed to forget about it, but with the white cast clear in the morning light, the undeniable truth soon slithers into Hajime’s brain, past all the walls he set up in his head to protect himself from the facts.

Oikawa will never play volleyball again. Aoba Johsai likely won’t even make it past the first match this year. Hajime and Tooru will never make it to nationals.

Honestly, if a petulant child had thrown their lives to the floor in a vicious tantrum, and broken everything into sharp, painful shards, they couldn’t have made any more of a mess.

“Okay,” he finds himself saying, unable to argue with Oikawa. Not while he’s turning his lip white from biting it so hard, and he looks like he’s about to burst into tears any second now. “O-okay.”

Oikawa visibly relaxes, hands unclenching and face returning to his normal easy-going expression. Looks like he’s just as glad to stop talking about this as Hajime is.

“So anyway, tea! Won’t it be great Iwa-chan? Like we’re proper English folk, haha! Are we there yet? I wish we would just get their already, I’m bored. Where is it again? Wait, is it near that pub? I think it is. It better be close to Buckingham Palace, I don’t want to walk for ages. How about I order the tea and you order the scones. Unless you want something else. What do you want Iwa-chan? You don’t think they have milk bread here do you? Oh my god, imagine if they did...”

Hajime can tell he’s trying to diffuse the situation by filling the awkward silence with his blabberings about random crap. It’s a good job Oikawa was always the bold one.

\--

Oikawa exited the cafe, satisfied with the pleasantly full feeling of eating too many scones. Not that he could be blamed; the scones came with CLOTTED CREAM after all. They tasted like a slightly sweeter version of milk bread, light and fluffy.

He glanced behind him, waiting for Iwa-chan to come out of the cafe. It took him a while, and by the time he was done Oikawa was raring to go.

He had read about Buckingham Palace on several websites - he was especially excited to go see the famous Beefeaters that stood guard. Their unflinching serious expressions made them legends, known all over the world, and he was sure he could get one to crack a smile, at least.

It was a twenty minute walk to Buckingham palace, one mostly spent grumbling about the sheer length of said walk. Finally they arrived, and Oikawa ran up the steps, deaf to Hajime’s calls about being careful and acting his age, only to be greeted by a huge queue stretching all the way around the ornate gold and black gates.

“Damn it,” Oikawa hissed under his breath. This wouldn’t- Woah. Woah, woah, woah. Wait. Where the hell were the girls?! Everywhere he looked he could see tall, strong-looking men with huge fuzzy hats and neat red uniforms. There were no female Beefeaters? Crap.

Looks like this was going to be harder than he thought.

Suddenly, a strong blow made contact with the side of his head, distracting him from his current predicament.

He whirled around to face his attacker. “Ouch! What was that for, Iwa-chan?”

“Don’t go running off! Remember how that ended last time?”

“It ended with me back in your ever-loving arms.”

“Wrong answer, dumbass. You were lost and I was stressed out, and the only reason you didn’t have to set up camp on London’s streets was because you actually got a little sense into that thick skull of yours, and realized that I was still at that stupid cafe.”

“MEAN, IWA-CHAN! MEAN!”

“Shut up idiot, stop yelling, we’re in public.”

Oikawa was about to reply when he noticed Iwa-chan’s default grumpy expression turning stony and hostile. He glanced behind him, to where the glare was aimed and immediately noticed a particularly tall Beefeater staring right at him.

The Beefeater had light brown hair, and a look more serious than any of the others; he was well-built, with an athlete’s body and muscles that can be seen in clear definition even through the thick uniform (It must be a real bitch to do this in the summer, Oikawa unconsciously thought). But what caught his eye was that stare. It felt impenetrable and incredibly intense, like Oikawa was the only person in the entire street, the entire city; it was like he knew exactly what he wanted and how he was going to get it. It was intimidating to be held under this steady gaze, but Oikawa found it occurring to him that it was also kind of flattering, an obviously powerful and determined guy acknowledging his existence made him feel like he was worth something.

A feeling that he had not felt since being forced to quit volleyball, pursue another career (as if it was that simple) and then, most infuriating of all, being expected to pick up the pieces of his broken disaster of a life and fix them back together as if everything was going to turn out okay. He was certain that without Iwa-chan’s help, the pieces would still be lying scattered around him, a never-ending jigsaw that he just didn’t know how to solve.

At least now some pieces were back in the right place.

“Oikawa, come over here. That creep keeps staring at you.”

Iwa-chan’s firm voice and guiding arm around his shoulders jolted him out of his contemplations. Oikawa glanced at him questioningly, only to find his eyes fixed on Beefeater, who looks indifferent to Iwa-chan’s repositioning. His eyes never leave Oikawa’s for a second.

It took them until about eleven to get hungry again, and it’s eleven thirty before they crack, and opened the packet of chocolate buses they bought for the Seijo team (well, Hajime bought them; Oikawa rarely visits the gym, so it doesn’t make much sense for him to get gifts for people who are pretty much strangers nowadays). The entire box has disappeared within minutes, and although the glances they shared in between scoffing the ‘souvenirs’ show the guilt they feel for opening the present, they don’t regret eating them - it’s kind of hard to feel bad when you’re eating luxury milk chocolate.

As much happiness as the chocolate brought, Beefeater soon took over his train of thought. Dread and worry should have been growing in his stomach, and yet all Oikawa felt was fascination. If he was being one hundred percent honest, he was curious… He felt like he wouldn’t feel fulfilled until he asked the guy all the questions plaguing his mind.

_Exactly how tall ARE you? Do you play volleyball (you look like the type) and if you do what position (wing spiker maybe)? How old are you? Why does your stare make me feel like a different person?_

_Probably more important than any of that, what did you do to make my best friend look at you like you’re everything that’s wrong with the world? Seriously, what happened to make him think you’re pure evil?_

The Beefeater caught his eye again as he flicked at his messy cow-licks that were blowing into his eyes and mouth at every opportunity they got. Like he could tell what Oikawa was thinking, the right corner of his mouth raised a miniscule amount. He might have well shouted “You’ll never know!” at the top of his lungs. Or maybe Oikawa was just going crazy. Right now the later seemed more likely.

Glancing over to see if Iwa-chan had calmed down yet, Oikawa found him still seething, practically spitting with rage.

“Please calm down, Iwa-chan.”

“Nope. Nuh-uh. No fucking way.” Iwa-chan replied, his building anger even more evident in his voice.

“Don’t get like that,” Oikawa laughed nervously. “Are you my mom?”

“Shut UP, Oikawa!” The sudden yell made Oikawa yelp and stumble backwards into the wall.

“W-what the-”

“This is serious! You’re too stupid to even comprehend this situation, just like always, but it’s obvious this guy has a thing for you! Just…” Iwa-chan leaned over, head in hands and Oikawa rushed forwards, wrapping his arms around him and making comforting shush noises, . “J-just like every other fucking guy that you ever meet.” Iwa-chan stuttered into Oikawa’s neck, making it impossible for him to read his expression.

Oikawa’s eyes widened so far he felt tears begin to prickle around the edges. Or maybe that was the sheer shock of the whole situation. He swallowed and took a deep breath, pushing the setter away from his body so he could look him in the eyes. He had expected the spiker to be stubborn and hard to dislodge, but he slid limply away from Oikawa in a way that had him more worried than any wilful tantrum ever could

“Iwa-chan,” he started slowly, fighting to keep his voice steady, oblivious to the crowd watching them, including Beefeater, who was watching the exchange with a raised eyebrow. “Why did you notice all these guys? And why are you getting so upset?”

Iwa-chan pulled away from his grip, wiping his wet eyes furiously with his fists.

 _Oh, SHIT._ Oikawa thought. _Maybe it really is what I think it might be._


	2. (un)Fortunate encounters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally a new chapter “0.0  
> I wrote instead of slept last night, so it’s one day early (yay!). I have a soft spot for Ushiwaka-chan, so you see a lot of him; also Rape/Non-con elements in this chapter, so read at your own risk.  
> New chapter 21/1 at the latest (ft. your favourite dorks and their one-hundred-percent-done boyfriends (●♡∀♡))ヾ☆*。)  
> Please enjoy~!

Hajime had never felt so scared in his entire life, not when he his mother had to be taken to hospital, not when he had set next to Oikawa in the hospital room, waiting to hear his fate.

But right now the fear was so overwhelming he couldn’t even look at Oikawa.

_It’s over, everything’s over. I fucked it all up. Oikawa’s going to hate me._

Thought after frantic thought raced through his mind as he clutched at his hair, the pain in his scalp distracting him a little from his terror. All he could think of was losing Oikawa and FUCK, he was not ready to give up his best friend.

Images spun around Hajime’s head like snapshots, his life flashing before his eyes like he was about to die.

_Ha. Appropriate._

He would miss the lazy Sunday mornings watching stupid cartoons about aliens and superheroes, and constantly arguing about which was better. He would miss the way Oikawa’s hair always smelt like vanilla and stayed perfect no matter how many shoves or punches he received from Hajime. He would miss the look on his face when he saw something especially interesting, eyes twinkling with exhilaration.

What wouldn’t he miss?

After all the heated exchanges and irritation that passed between the two, you’d think he’d be able to call something to mind.

Oikawa’s face felt like it was about to crack open with the effort of keeping his feelings in check; everyone around the square was now focused on them.

“Iwa-chan, look-”

Oikawa’s brain screamed at him, the incessant yelling almost too loud for him to hear Iwa-chan’s reply, even with his ear right next to his mouth. “No.”

Oikawa’s head snapped up and his reply burst out of his mouth, coming out slightly harsher than he’d meant. “What do you mean no?”

Iwa-chan sniffled - Why did he have to sniffle? Iwa-chan couldn’t sniffle, it just didn’t fit. He was too strong for such a weak word. But… It was the perfect description of the small, pitiful sound he just made.

“Let’s just get our picture and leave, okay?”

Nodding slowly, Oikawa looked down at his shoes; they were new, bought especially for this trip. He remembered the excitement he had felt buying them, looking forward to the adventure no doubt awaiting them in this new, exotic country. It had been a distraction from the injury, and the stress of finding something else he wanted to do for the rest of his life.

Silence didn’t mean tension for them - it occurred quite often after all. It was simple, it just meant they had nothing they felt they needed to say to each other, or they were preoccupied with another matter and they would start up a conversation later, when said matter had been completed. There had only ever been one time when silence had meant something other than easy, familiar company.

When Oikawa had first started pushing himself to the limit and beyond behind Iwa-chan’s back, they had had their first proper argument (not the daily childish squabbles) and Iwa-chan had given him for the silent treatment for twenty-five minutes. He’d only stopped because Oikawa had cried himself senseless, shouting and cursing until Iwa-chan had no other choice but put an end to his hysterics before the loud sobs attracted the neighbour’s attention. It had been a horrible experience for Oikawa, who had felt like his entire life was falling away - because who could he possibly be without Iwa-chan - and whose voice had been a scratchy croak for the best part of a week. He was certain Iwa-chan didn't enjoy the ordeal either, and after that, silence was always comfortable.

  
Except right now it felt suffocating, as if any wrong word might set off an explosive reaction and do a vast amount of damage. What did Oikawa do? The only thing he could do: he walked along behind Iwa-chan, avoiding his eyes and keeping his head down.

Shaking his head subconsciously, Oikawa followed Iwa-chan’s swift pace, struggling to keep up, but not even considering complaining out loud; the last thing he wanted to do was make the situation worse. If Iwa-chan wanted to act like everything was normal then Oikawa had no choice but to go along with this false pretense. He would meet the Beefeaters, and then try and sort this mess out with his best friend, when there weren’t about a MILLION people around. He did feel a bit better about sorting this out with Iwa-chan rather than attempting it on his own - after all, sorting out catastrophes was what he and his best friend did best. They’d been through it enough times to pretty much be experts on the damn subject.

_He’s wrong about that guy though, isn’t he? He has to be!_

Oikawa glanced up as he registered the Beefeater’s eyes on him again. Maybe… No, it wasn’t possible. Was it?

_What else had he said? Just like every other guy? What the hell did he mean by that? No guy had ever…_

Oikawa stopped suddenly, frozen in place. Oh. OH. How had he not noticed before? Fragments of his past rushed before him, hundreds of situations that he’d originally perceived to be nothing more than kind guys being helpful and friendly. They had been…? Suddenly, an instance caught his eye, the sight of it sending tremors down his spine; an instance that had occurred not two days ago. He recalled the cafe with the sweet cashier, the one with the black bed-head and teasing grin.

Oh, wow. He was an idiot. He was an absolute bloody idiot, and he had no idea why he had never noticed this before. Something should have tipped him off. The wink! That should have at least given him some clue as to why the guy had been so nice. And maybe the inappropriate questions. And the way his hand had lingered a little too long on his own when he’d handed over the coffee. And the discount for no reason. And the way the guy’s face fell when Iwa-chan pulled him away.

So he’d done that deliberately, huh. There was no other explanation for his bizarre behaviour - Iwa-chan could be a little harsh with him, but there was no reason for Iwa-chan to hate the cafe so much other than the cashier. Again he marvelled at how he had not spotted this before. Did he have some kind of freaky veil over his eyes that stopped him from seeing the truth right in front of his face?

_I mean, sure, guys flirting with other guys isn’t exactly commonplace, and can be awkward to talk about, but if it’s happening as often as Iwa-chan seems to think it is then he should have should have pointed it out!_

But what Oikawa didn’t get was Hajime had, time and time again. Subtly dropped hints, concerned expressions, implied knowledge of what the guy’s were doing, he’d tried it all. But Oikawa never seemed to understand without him spelling it out - which he never once did. Obviously.

So Hajime was forced to sit there and watch Oikawa encounter pervert after pervert. He usually just glared and did his best to deter them without drawing too much attention from Oikawa, like he had with Kuroo - was it Kuroo? He was pretty sure it was - earlier.

They were nearing the front of the queue, and it was only a ten minute wait until they went up to get their pictures. Hajime glanced over his shoulder at Oikawa, who he could see was getting excited in spite of himself.

 _Aww, that’s kind of endearing._ The thought crossed his mind before he had a chance to bat it away. _Damn it, I can’t think those things, if I’m going to pull of the ‘just a joke’ plan._

Whilst Oikawa had been experiencing remarkable revelations, he’d been trying to think of how best to cover his slip up earlier. So far the best excuse he’d come up with was that he was ‘just kidding around’. As unlikely as it was that Oikawa was going to believe him, the only other thing his muddled brain could come up with was screaming “NO HOMO!” and running away. Whilst it was tempting, and probably the easiest option, Hajime really didn’t want to deal with the repercussions. Jesus, he must be really fucking desperate if he’d actually consider that.

Finally reaching the front of the queue, Hajime heard Oikawa give a little shriek of excitement at the prospect of actually meeting the Beefeaters.

A man in black uniform ushered them over to where most mums and dads were standing as they watched their little ones chase each other in and out of the Beefeaters’ legs, but Oikawa was having none of it. He smartly side-stepped around the dark haired man, who glared at him viciously as he skipped towards where the children were playing. Hajime resisted the urge to yell at him to watch his leg, instead watched as he took a picture with each different Beefeater, incorporating them into the photo with various cute poses, and as far as Hajime could see, he made each of the guards smile a tiny bit. Prancing around like an idiot also gave him a chance to play with all the kids running around, encouraging them to take pictures with the Beefeaters too.

Hajime was used to watching him charm everyone and everything, so this sight wasn’t particularly strange for him, but the mothers all around him cooed at Oikawa’s antics, and Hajime heard snippets of conversations like “Why can’t Kiyoko find one like that?” and “What a sweetheart! My Yachi would love him!”. He also saw every female in a fifty foot radius go crimson when Oikawa spared a quick glance in Hajime’s direction, and a couple of guys looked away shiftly, suddenly very interested in the ground - Hajime even saw one awkwardly readjust his pants and fought the urge to go over there and beat the shit outta him. He settled on a scowl sent in his general direction.

Without warning the conversation all around went quiet. Turning around to see what Oikawa had done now - honestly, he’d probably gotten a little too boisterous and knocked one of the Beefeaters over - Hajime felt a yell die in his throat at the sight that met his eyes.

_What the actual fuck is this._

Oikawa was currently in what seemed like a lip lock with the creep from earlier - his wrists were encircled by huge hands holding his arms apart on either side of his body. He watched dumbfounded as Oikawa struggled once, then twice against the Beefeater’s firm grip; in response to his resisting, the man pushed Oikawa’s wrists further back, almost behind his head. Hajime could hear the hiss of pain at the uncomfortable position, even from his position meters away, and something snapped. His vision flooded with scarlett and all he could see was blinding, burning red.

_No. Oh FUCK no, nobody gets to fucking do that on my clock. Nonononononononononononononono-_

Hajime was cut off from the continuous chant of protests running through his head as his fist made contact with something solid. The solid thing drew back and Hajime felt something warm fall into him, gasping for air. His brain may have blown a fuse, but his body seemed to know exactly what it was doing. As his sight slowly returned to normal colour, he noticed the Beefeater rubbing his jaw, expression unreadable and a very out of breath Oikawa clutching at his waist. They stood like that for a few seconds before Hajime grabbed Oikawa’s hand and pulled him away forcefully, not concerned about walking too fast for once. Right now all he cared about was putting as much distance between Oikawa and this freak as possible.

\--

Ushijima Wakatoshi considered himself to have a fairly average life. Everyday was the same - after a certain amount of repetition it all started to blur together. He woke up in the same shitty flat, ate the same breakfast of toast and coffee, wore the same uniform everyday, interacted with the same people before work, dealt with the same overly enthusiastic tourists and went the same way home everyday alone.

Sometimes he missed high school, when he was sure he could conquer the world and make everyone know his name. He had been a pretty famous athlete in the under-eighteen category back then, so his dream didn’t seem that unattainable. But he never really accepted that he would need help from others, and in the end that was his downfall.

The day he was kicked off the Shiratorizawa team was probably the worst of his life. After all these years, he would still have nightmares about the coach’s words and wake up, panting and full of hate, directed towards those who opposed him, but most of all himself.

“Stop trying to control everyone. You’ve got to understand that all the players on the volleyball court matter, and they don’t just exist to serve you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, until you do show you do, we can’t let you back on the Shiratorizawa team. You’re an incredible player, and if you learn to work with the other five players on the court, one day you may even be a valuable one.”

The exchange still made him wince to this day whenever it crossed his mind. He tried not to let that happen, instead buried himself in boring, ordinary routine. But sometimes when he wasn’t paying attention, resentment would flood his system and all he would be able to think of was how great Shiratorizawa could have become if he was leading them. Of course, it was only a matter of time until people stopped calling it a powerhouse, and they became a lesser-known team, only once getting past the first round of a tournament they entered (and even then they were eliminated in the second match).

Ushijima hated that he still cared. Nothing in his life was HIS anymore, nothing was truly under his control. All he wanted was for one day to feel like he was as powerful as he used to be. That’s why he did it, to be honest. That, and another reason he just couldn’t pinpoint and find a name for. It was kind of just a stupid urge that he couldn’t sooner deny than admit the Shiratorizawa coach was right. But there was something about that him that told him Ushijima could dominate and have complete control over him, that he be his and his alone. The idea was wonderful, and a feeling of power had taken over his brain. The guy had been taking pictures with the Beefeaters, giggling with the children and tormenting him without realizing it. All Ushijima wanted to do was make him submit; to slam him against the nearest hard surface and give it to him until he was begging and screaming and couldn’t even remember his own name.

And before he’d realized it, he’d caught the stranger’s lips with his own.

He could tell the guy was surprised, and he almost smiled against his lips. Using his teeth to bite down on his bottom lip hard enough to bruise, but not hard quite enough to draw blood, Ushijima took a gasp of discomfort as an opportunity, and slipped his tongue inside the stranger’s mouth. For a couple of seconds the guy was unresponsive, but then he began to struggle. Ushijima frowned for a second, pushing his wrists further back, until they were almost behind his neck. He felt the guy huff against his mouth in frustration - and possibly pain. Then he felt a punch of surprising force smash into the side of his face, and had to pull away from the guy, in case he bit his tongue off. The deliverer of the punch seemed to be the companion, maybe even boyfriend, of the stranger, who apparently calls him “Iwa-chan!”.

“Iwa-chan” was looking at his friend and Ushijima like they were something he just found on the underside of his shoe. After glowering at Ushijima for a couple of seconds, he grabbed his friend’s hand and pulled him away, amid cries of “Iwa-chan!” and “Don’t say anything, Oikawa.”

Oikawa - so that was the stranger’s name. Ushijima got back into line, ignoring the disapproving looks the tourist’s were throwing him and the horrified faces of the other Beefeaters. He would sort this out later with Daichi, probably get into trouble, but he wouldn’t lose his job. Namely because it had been his fault Daichi had met his soulmate, the florist Ushijima nodded to on the way to work. There’s no way he could get into really severe trouble, not after he introduced him to Sugawara Koushi.

Besides, he had plenty of things to think about, all far more pressing thank the lecture he was going to receive.

\--

Oikawa’s wrists ached after being held in a vice-like grip, and Iwa-chan really wasn’t helping by pulling him along by it. He knew he was mad, he could feel his fingers shaking, but he wasn’t sure exactly how mad. Knowing he was going to have to deal with Iwa-chan’s rage sooner or later only made him all the more keen to get it over with. They reached a dark alleyway that looked devoid of all life - so no risk of interruption - and Oikawa decided now was probably the right time. As Iwa-chan gave a particularly strong pull on his wrist, Oikawa yelped at the sting and stumbled forwards, before wrenching his hand out of Iwa-chan’s reach.

“Stop pulling my arm Iwa-chan! Please, it already hurts, okay?”

“Oikawa…” Oikawa heard the uncommonly still man whisper.

“Iwa-chan? What are you-” Oikawa was cut off as he saw a blur of motion swing through the air. A sharp sting erupted across his face and he stared in shock at his best friend who was clutching his own arm, shaking with resentment. He brought a hand up to his face, which was like ice, as if Iwa-chan had slapped all of the warmth from his body. A new bruise was already beginning to bloom beneath the flaming skin.

“I’m going to… I need to… Bye.”

“Huh?” Oikawa grimaced as the soreness from his cheek spread down to his lips, but still forced the sentence out.

“I just need to be alone right now.” Iwa-chan began to walk away listlessly, only to find Oikawa striding after him. “Don’t follow me!”

Uttering those words, he broke into a sprint. Oikawa took a moment to process the situation, and by that time he’d already darted round one of the corners and was gone.

Oikawa looked for him for almost fifteen minutes, before his lungs began to burn and his knee became so weak he had difficulty walking. Five minutes after that his knee gave out and he fell, knocking a stack of mouldy wooden crates amok. His breath came out in sharp, short gasps and he felt his mouth filling with bile. The sour flavour engulfed his tongue and nausea threatened; he started to see double.

After closing his eyes and staying motionless for a while, he was able to accomplish moving again, so he pulled himself up very slowly, head still spinning, but able to control himself.

He stepped out of the alleyway and into a new one, just as filthy and disgusting as the last one, although it did have one difference. This one wasn’t abandoned.

A group of men, around about Oikawa’s age stood in the corner smoking, leaned against the slimy brick walls as one would lie against the back of a luxury sofa. They looked right at home on the dirty London streets, and Oikawa’s brain was already screaming danger at him. He instantly turned around and started back the way he came without glancing back. He paused as he heard a shout from one of the guys, his foot frozen and his mind chanting every curse word he knew.

“Hahahaha,” he laughed nervously, hoping they wouldn’t see through his facade. “Hello, it was nice to meet you, but I’ve got to go now.” He turned to leave only to walk directly into a young man directly behind him. He 

backed up, only to bump into another man. He laughed again, but the sound was far too high and he was sure it sounded fake. All the men behind him were turning in his direction now, as if the arrival of this new man changed their entire attitudes.

Oikawa peeked at the guy over his shoulder, and almost smiled at how ridiculous he looked. It was like he’d looked up “cool-looking-punk-dude” and took the first image that showed up as his new identity. He had a bushy, honey coloured undercut, tongue, ear and nose piercings, and about a million button-size tattoos. It almost made Oikawa want to get a closer look at the tiny coloured ink stories on his skin, but his curiosity was overruled by his anxiety, which was fast mounting as he watched the guy look him over with a thoughtful pout.

“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’tcha? Ya new here? Need us to show ya how things work around here?”

A low chuckle resonated from the group behind him, and Oikawa felt panic begin to set in.

“Oh no, I’m fine, thank you. I just need to find my friend and I’ll be off.”

“Aw no, ya can’t leave already. If ya new to London you need the tour,” his arrogant smirk abruptly hardening and turning dangerous. “C’mon baby, let us showya a good time.”

“Seriously, I need to be going, so-” Oikawa gulped, his heart thumping and his brain racing at a frantic speed to try and find a way to escape as the guy stepped towards him, forcing his back into the wall. Thick arms slammed down, millimeters away from his face as the guy stepped in close enough that Oikawa could smell the booze on his breath and the smoke clinging to his clothes from his cigarette earlier, the smell making him feel sick again.

The guy ran a hand across his waist and down his thigh, deaf to Oikawa’s protests. A sharp intake of breath rocked Oikawa’s body as the guy dug his nails into his hips. Without thinking, Oikawa shoved him as hard as he could, and made a break for it. Of course he didn’t get very far - one of the group who had been watching caught him by the shoulders as soon as the guy had gone stumbling backwards. Oikawa kicked and hissed, but to no avail. “You’re a feisty one, aren’tcha?” The guy from before drew close again, his voice menacing this time. “But that was not a very good idea.” He emphasized this comment by running his fingers roughly over Oikawa’s lips, before grasping his chin and bringing his forehead down on Oikawa’s, hard. Oikawa whimpered as his head throbbed from the blow, but he choked on his objection as the guy shoved a long finger into his mouth. His mouth acted on its own and Oikawa felt his jaw lock together unintentionally. The man pulled back, cussing loudly and angrily at the purple bite marks on his finger.

“Shit… Terushima, y’alright?” he heard from somewhere in the crowd surrounding them. Terushima fixed Oikawa with a death glare. “Oh I’ll be just fine after I show this little bitch that you should never fuck with me.”

Oikawa felt a hand roughly grasp at him through his jeans, and let out a sob at the idea of what was about to happen. Right then, instead of dreading the unbelievable pain he was likely about to go through, all he could think of was how disappointed Iwa-chan would be to see him like this, pathetic in every sense of the word.

“P-please, no…” Oikawa closed his eyes when his pleas fell on deaf ears, hoping the darkness would at least help him blot out some of what was to come. Terushima’s hands danced across his crotch undoing the buttons and pulling his pants down with a satisfied “Mmmm…” Oikawa’s pants were halfway down his thighs when Terushima stopped all of a sudden, hands pulling off Oikawa quickly. He opened his eyes a crack, wondering if this was just another cruel joke, to find Terushima was no longer in front of him. Instead he saw Terushima was retreating away from him, eyes fixed on a figure at the end of the alleyway. His cronies were moving away too, all faces turned towards the mysterious silhouette. Terushima spoke first. A single name rolled of his pierced tongue, dripping with hatred. “Ushijima Wakatoshi.”

“Terushima.” the voice greeted, void of any sort of emotion. “Would you care to tell me what you were doing with this young man?”

“Would you care to tell me why you’re in my territory?” Terushima’s lip curled in disgust, as if the very sight the figure was enough to repel him.

“Your territory? Terushima, this is London property, not YOUR territory.”

The words made Terushima’s gaze turn from disgusted to furious, and his companions backed him on all sides. “ My brother’s territory, my territory.” The figure smiled and pulled out a small wallet that must’ve contained something that made Terushima and the rest of his friends take another step back. It looked like a police-ID.

“Beat it.” Ushijima said, voice even more dangerous than Terushima’s a couple of seconds ago. The group rounded the corner, probably finding some other alley to hang out in. The figure stared at them for a couple of seconds to make sure they’d gone, before finally turning around to face Oikawa, and any hope of an apology dropped out of his brain when he recognized the Beefeater from earlier that day. The man seemed not to notice Oikawa’s dumbfounded stare, glancing down at his disheveled state.

“Ushijima Wakatoshi. Let’s get you looking presentable, shall we?”


	3. A Cafe on the Promenade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm so late, tests and stuff m(._.)m  
> Yay, writing Tsukuroo/BokuAka is so fun haha~  
> Next chapter's going to be extremely long, so I can wrap it all up, but I will get it finished!  
> Kudos, comments, ect are greatly appreciated, thank you (⌒▽⌒)☆

Hajime had been wandering aimlessly around town for almost an hour and still hadn’t come to terms with the fact that Oikawa had been kissed by that freak. Loathing bubbled up in his chest whenever he thought too hard about the situation. Sharp stabs of recollection shot through his brain when he pictured that moment, and everything in his body ached. He knew that his hate wasn’t entirely directed at the Beefeater, who had thought it was okay to kiss Oikawa, even when he was obviously struggling and trying to get away, or Oikawa, who hadn’t believed his claims that the Beefeater had a thing for him, even if it was blindingly obvious. Deep down, he knew that he was angry at himself more than anyone, for failing to protect his best friend from yet another guy.

He felt like an overprotective father from one of those old fashioned novels about forbidden love, the kind rebellious teen girl’s go nuts over. The guilt and doubt was making his head hurt, and the ache wasn’t helped by constant rueful thoughts.

All he had wanted was to have an adventure with his best friend, like the ones they dreamed of years before; he just wanted to travel back into that era of mishaps and excited laughter, sticky faces and never-ending energy, back when the worst pain they ever felt was a scraped knee, or bruised forehead (and those were easily fixed by a carefully-placed band-aid). What would his eight year old self would say if he knew what a mess their relationship was going to become?

Walking down a dark promenade, he slipped into the closest well-lit, empty cafe and quickly found an empty table in the corner of the room, flopping down into a chair. Burying his head in his hands, he closed his eyes and prepared to wallow in self-pity. He even felt his eyes flutter shut, and he welcomed the release of sleep.

Unfortunately before he could nod off, an almighty cry sounded from the small ‘STAFF ONLY’ room and a boy stumbled into the room with such force he sent the door flying back on its hinges. He promptly fell to the floor.

A little intrigued, Hajime lifted his head off the table and looked down at the young man as he jumped to his feet, black and white streaked hair sticking straight up in the air and a goofy grin splitting his face in half.

“Kuroo! Customer!” the guy yelled over his shoulder, before charging back in the direction he came from. Hajime paused. Kuroo? He knew that name from somewhere but-

“Got it!” an obnoxiously loud, disembodied voice bellowed from the kitchen. Not long after, a person joined it. A person with a crazy black bedhead and a sly, cat-like smile. Hajime groaned and let his head fall back when he saw a flash of recognition shine in Kuroo’s dark eyes. He hoped that he’d made a mistake, and this wasn’t who he thought it was.

“Hey! You’re the guy from before, the one with the hot friend!”

No such luck it seemed. Kuroo strolled over to his table, ignoring his glare and the way he prickled when he called Oikawa hot. “What can I get you?”

Oh well, if he was here, he might as well order something. Who knows, maybe eating would help fill up the pit in his stomach. Hajime opened his mouth to reply when Kuroo motioned for him to wait a second, before turning around and yelling for Bokuto to get his ass back in there. The boy from before came barrelling through the door again, this time followed by a tall, blond boy with glasses.

“What is it?”

“You remember that guy I told you about that came in yesterday? The one that looked like a porn star?” Bokuto nodded his head in reply. “Well, this is that guy’s boyfriend!”

The word “boyfriend” made Hajime start, heat spreading down his neck and along the tips of his ears. “I’m not his boyfriend! And don’t call him-”

“Don’t you think it’s a little rude comparing someone to something you jack off to, in front of their boyfriend? Or your own, at that?” the blond boy sighed, pushing his glasses up and fixing Kuroo with a cold stare.

“I’m not his-”

“Aw, Tsukki, you know you’ll always be my favourite!” Kuroo strolled over to the boy and wrapped his arms around his slim waist, grinning and planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that? Just call me Tsukishima, idiot.” the boy tried to look stubborn, but he was obviously a little ruffled by the sudden affection.

“You let Yamaguchi call you Tsukki.”

“Yamaguchi and I have been friends since childhood.”

“I’ve been inside of you! If that doesn’t qualify me, then I don’t know what will.”

“How about not trying to fuck every other guy you see for a couple of days?”

“Burn!” Bokuto shouted, right next to Hajime’s ear.

“What the fuck dude? You’re supposed to be on my side!” Kuroo grumbled, unhooking himself from Tsukishima and walking over to punch Bokuto in the arm - apparently pretty hard, because Bokuto fell to the floor with a yelp of pain. 

“Fuck, Kuroo. That hurt, you dick!”

“Oh stop being so melon-dramatic, you stupid owl!”

Tsukishima snorted into his hand, “Did you just say MELON-dramatic?”

“Uh, yes?” Kuroo said. Both boys turned to look at Tsukishima, confused and curious about what he found so funny.

“Never mind. You probably wouldn’t get it even if I explained.” The two boys stayed blinking for a couple of seconds, before Bokuto kicked Kuroo in the shin, screaming “Revenge!” and Kuroo jumped on Bokuto in a successful attempt to wrestle him to the ground.

Hajime watched this exchange with a mixture of annoyance and mild amusement. Something about their stupid bickering made him think of when he and Oikawa used to argue as kids. Oikawa… What was he doing right now? Probably kissing another guy, like the Beefeater. No, Oikawa wasn’t like that, it was unfair to think of him in that way. The slap appeared in his mind, making him wince; he’s hit Oikawa millions of times before, but never with that much force or aggression.

He was knocked out of his thoughts by Bokuto crashing into him, knocking his elbow off the table. Tsukishima sighed again, walking over and giving the pair a shove over to the other side of the cafe. “Honestly, I’m surrounded by morons. I don’t know why I thought they could behave normally for more than a few seconds.”

Tsukishima pulled out a chair and sat down next to Hajime. Well, looked like food was off the table.

“Bokuto, you son of a BITCH!” the shriek of agony rang out loud and clear across the cafe, and probably half of London. Kuroo lay crumpled on the floor, rocking back and forth slowly.

“Nutshot!” Bokuto exclaimed triumphantly, gleeful laughter drowning out Kuroo’s groans of pain.

“I’m gone for five minutes, and everything goes crazy.” The group turned to find a man with dark, straight hair and an extremely bored expression on his face.

“Akaashi!” Bokuto threw himself towards the man, intending to catch him in a tender and loving embrace. Unfortunately he never got there, as just as he took a huge bound to meet Akaashi, Kuroo regained enough consciousness to grab his ankle, sending him sprawling. Akaashi looked down with one raised eyebrow at the boy face-to-face with the ground in front of him. Then he stepped over him, face still calm and collected, like he dealt with this kind of crazy shit everyday.

“Honestly, Tsukishima,” Akaashi huffed, pulling up a chair at the now-busy table, as Bokuto began to peel himself off the floor.

Tsukishima started, then glared indignantly at his friend. “Are you kidding me? How is any of this MY fault?!”

“I asked you to watch them.”

“I did watch them!”

“Oh, so that little scene was just the usual for you.”

“Pretty much - anyway, I’m not a miracle worker. What do you want from me?”

“I just want-” Akaashi broke off halfway through his complaint when he caught sight of Hajime. “Oh, you’re new.”

Hajime, who had reserved himself to watching the whole incident play out, twitched at the sudden inclusion. It was strange how accepting Tsukishima and Akaashi were of their friends and their ridiculous antics. It might be a cultural difference.

_If it is then Londoners are freaking insane,_ Hajime mused to himself.

“So, why are you here?” Hajime heard Akaashi ask, and was surprised at how genuinely interested him sounded. Tsukishima had leaned forwards over the table, as if to make sure not to miss a single detail, and even Kuroo and Bokuto stopped squabbling to listen to what he had to say.

“Uh, well, it’s getting dark and this place was well-lit.” Hajime recounted truthfully, hoping this tiny snippet would be enough to satisfy the curious faces surrounding him.

“No no, he means your real story,” Tsukishima clarified, as if that made the situation any more clear. Hajime voiced his confusion on the matter, to be met with knowing faces.

“People who come here always have some kind of story to tell. So, you gonna tell us yours?”

“Why do you even care?”

Akaashi sat back in his chair, still wearing the same expression. “Because life here is ordinary. Not to mention boring.” Hajime wondered silently, who on earth would call the things he had witnessed so far “ordinary”.

“That, and we’re really nosy.” Bokuto grinned at him, - having picked himself up off the floor - leaning his forearms on the back of Tsukishima’s chair, much to his distaste.

_Am I really going to do this?_ Hajime questioned.  _Open up to complete strangers?_

Even if he did, was it really okay to tell them his story? Because no matter how he tried to look at it, it could never be just HIS; it would always be his and Oikawa’s. The time before they met was just an insignificant blur of monochrome. They had long since given up any pretence that they could be considered as two separate timelines - their lives would forever be bound together. It felt wrong to recall a story that was only half his, like he was breaching Oikawa’s privacy, but at the same time it made him feel exhilarated that these people wanted to know about him. Most people he conversed with steered the talking point towards Oikawa at the first chance they got. Not that he truly minded; it was more proof that he knew more about Oikawa than anyone else, that he was his best friend, and belonged to him.

_Of course, most best friends don’t slap each other about and then leave them on their own._

He began to recount what had happened, again worrying about the feeling he was about to betray Oikawa. It was too late now though, and he continued until he’d finally finished his (their) story.

“I knew you two weren’t together! So I could have done him!” Kuroo grumbled.

“No, you couldn’t have.” Tsukishima glared at him.

“Ah, that’s so sad,” Akaashi murmured to himself.

“Yeah, I know right! I can’t imagine falling in love with my best friend!”

“Bokuto, you were in love with Akaashi all through high school, when you were really good friends,” Tsukishima pointed out. “So actually, yeah, you can.”

“That’s different!”

“In what way exactly?”

“I didn’t act really goofy back then, like this guy!” Bokuto retorted.“You almost put yourself in hospital confessing to him, and your first date was a practice match against Nekoma.”

“It was a great idea to confess from a rooftop, it shows I think about the small details! And we kicked their butts at that game! It was SUPER romantic.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Akaashi interjected, earning himself a smile from Tsukishima and a heart-broken look from Bokuto. “Anyway, this isn’t about us.”

“I really don’t know what to tell you dude.” Kuroo yawned, lazily stretching his arms above his head. “You could always just do what me and Tsukki did.”

“What, do it in a random hotel, and become friends who occasionally fuck?” Bokuto asked.

“NO. I think he means reach a mutual understanding and settle into a familiar relationship.” Tsukishima replied, trying his best not to look like a tomato with glasses.

“Actually I was leaning a bit more towards what Bokuto said.” Kuroo admitted with a smirk.

“Well, this was kind of pointless then.” Hajime shook his head at their ridiculous ideas.

“No, wait,” Akaashi spoke up, ignoring Bokuto’s I’m-the-unrequited-lover-how-tragic poses behind his back. “Tsukishima’s kind of right. Just because this has happened doesn’t mean anything has to change between you and Oikawa. You can stay friends if you just talk about it.”

“I’m not sure that’s going to work,” Hajime furrowed his brow, thinking off the sinking, heavy feeling that had invaded his bloodstream when he’d accidentally admitted his feelings.

“How will you know for sure if you don’t try?” 

\--

Oikawa stayed frozen, staring at the hand in front of his face with a mixture of contempt, gratitude and fear. He remembered the events earlier that day, that harsh, forceful kiss, and wondered if he was going to break him apart and use him in this alley like Terushima had seemed so hell bent on doing. But the extended palm didn’t give off a menacing aura like Terushima had. Right now the man seemed everything but dangerous. For a strange moment the dark alleyway seemed to melt away and it momentarily felt like home.

The guy - Ushijima Wakatoshi - was sure to recognize him. He waited for him to notice who he was, and probably say something, but he just offered his hand even more insistently. Oikawa blinked, relieved but disappointed; maybe his face wasn’t that memorable after all.

He glanced down at himself, traces of sexual assault littering his body, from the bruise on his forehead and red marks along his jawbone, to his trousers, still around his knees. He looked like a pitiful mess…

Well, he didn’t want Ushiwaka’s pity. He didn’t need help. He voiced this, fixing him with a defiant glare.

Ushiwaka stepped back, weirdly compliant for someone who had been so stubborn moments before. Oikawa frowned at his suspicious behaviour, but attempted to step away from the brick wall he was backed up against. Attempted being the operative word.

No sooner had he shifted his foot forwards a couple of centimetres, his knee buckled and he fell to the ground, a squeak of passing his lips before he could muffle it. Ushiwaka’s eyebrows arched, as if to say “I told you so.”

As the adrenaline began to melt away and feeling trickled back into his leg, the area around his knee became enveloped in familiar stabs like pins and needles. Pulling up his trouser leg, he was greeted with a sight that he’d not seen in a long time, because Iwa-chan always made sure to make him change his cast and apply the weird smelling cream that supposedly helped heal him. Not that he was doubting that right now; the skin around his supporter was swollen and inflamed. It looked horrible, and it hurt about twice as much.

He didn’t have anything that could help on him, all the medical supplies they had brought were lying on the dressing table back at in the hotel room.

Ushiwaka was watching him with satisfaction shining in his hazel eyes, focused on nothing but the boy on the ground in front of him. Oikawa pushed himself into a sitting position with his elbows, head tilted back and drops of sweat dribbling down his temple. His face was bright red from the effort, and he wasn’t sure if he could continue without passing out. Grudgingly, Oikawa stuck his hand out, eyes trained on the ground, lost in the humiliation of having to ask for help.

Raising an eyebrow again, Ushiwaka grabbed hold of his wrist and pulled him into a standing position with little difficulty. Oikawa almost tripped over his own feet, though he caught himself just before he fell, thank god. “Can you stand?” Ushiwaka asked, hand still keeping a firm grip on Oikawa’s fingers.

“Of course I can!” Oikawa grumbled, ripping his hand out of Ushiwaka’s strong grasp. Without the point of contact to keep him centred, he found himself stumbling. A muscled arm shot out and steadied him before he had the chance to crash to the ground again. Oikawa hadn’t anticipated being this weak; it hadn’t been this hard to walk since he first got the supporter and was learning how to deal with the constant, uncooperative stiffness. Ushiwaka still hadn’t moved his arm away from his waist, and Oikawa was beginning to feel uncomfortable with the situation. Oikawa slung a skinny arm around Ushiwaka’s neck, looking everywhere but his face. Awkwardness was slowly setting in, no matter how much he tried to deny it.

“Thank you,” he whispered dubiously. Nodding his acknowledgment, Ushiwaka tightened his grip around Oikawa’s hips. _Fuck, is it even possible to hold me any tighter? If he keeps this up my lower-half is going to explode_. He felt heat spread across his neck when he realized just how dirty what he just thought could sound in the wrong context. Not for the first time on this trip, he was glad he’d thought out how what he was going to say would sound before speaking.

Ushiwaka abruptly shuffled forwards a couple of steps, forcing OIkawa to put weight on his foot. Quiet whimpers escaped his mouth every time his foot touched the pavement. It didn’t take a genius to see this was NOT going to work. They struggled through a few more steps before Ushiwaka sighed and stopped walking altogether. His arm slithered off his waist, and Oikawa almost screeched when it landed on his ass. He was about to scream at his companion, but the words froze on his tongue as the hand on his ass scooped him up and into Ushiwaka’s chest. Oh, now he really was going to scream.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? I’m not some damsel-in-distress, you know!” he yelped, shoving away from his chest with all his might.

“You can’t walk,” Ushiwaka stated matter-of-factly, unperturbed by Oikawa’s attempts to get away.

“Yes I CAN!” Oikawa protested stubbornly. “Okay, maybe there’s a small issue there, but you don’t have to hold me like a princess from a dumb fairytale. And I’ll be damned if you - YOU! - think you’re bloody Prince Charming! I don’t need your help, so you’re in no position to “rescue” me, idiot!”

A ghost of a smile passed across Ushiwaka’s lips as he listened to his flustered ramblings. “I’m sorry you find this embarrassing. It’s not hard to find a different position to hold you in.”

“I’m not embarra- Hey, what’re you- Of!” Oikawa’s protests were effectively cut off when Ushiwaka lifted him out of the comfortable hold he had previously been placed in, and dropped him unceremoniously over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

“Is this better?”

“Absolutely not.” Oikawa felt the blood beginning to rush to his head as he swung back and forth upside down. He was going to get woozy really fast unless he did something. _Ah, screw it, why not get rid of my final scraps of dignity._ “Put me back the way I was before.” Even the stupid newlyweds pose was better than this shit.

Ushiwaka silently complied, then finally started moving, a very grumpy Oikawa in his arms. He knew that when the frustration wore off everything was going to start hurting like hell; with this thought in his mind, he sped his careful walking into a brisk jog.

“By the way, where are we going?” Oikawa’s chocolate eyes were wide and genuinely curious as to what their final destination was going to be.

“My apartment.”

“Your apartment?” Now his eyes were wide with disbelief.

“Yes.”

“But…”

“I have medical supplies there, and your bruises and leg obviously need treating.” Ushiwaka sighed, passing his hesitation up as well-exercised caution (probably wise after what he’d gone through earlier).

His reddened cheeks were just because of the cold England air, of course.

\-- 

Ushijima jimmied the knob of his house with his spare hand, trying his best not to drop Oikawa, who had sensed danger and was clinging to him determinedly. It was old, bad quality and it broke often. Ushijima hoped today wasn’t one of the times it was immovable. After quite a bit of intense concentration and accidental skin-on-skin contact, they finally got the door open.

His apartment was the same as usual - clean, organized and very cramped. He was struck by how small it was every time he walked through the rickety, creaking door. Still, it was in London, and that’s pretty much enough. He was actually lucky to have gotten a decent place in a normal neighbourhood for such an affordable price (he always wondered if the previous inhibitor had died or something). You can’t afford much on a Beefeater’s salary. Search up “cheap accommodations in London”, and most of the stuff that comes up looks like it’s from a horror film.

Oikawa was looking at his tiny little apartment like it was a sole oasis in a never-ending desert. Weird. He was probably just happy he was finally going to get some relief from the pain. Or Maybe he was glad he was going to get out of the compromising position. Speaking of, he still hadn’t put him down.

Ushijima lowered Oikawa back to his feet, but didn’t let go until he reached the small couch in the middle of the room. He lay back on the sofa, a pleased, peaceful expression on his face. _He looks like a king, waiting to be served._ Well, what choice did he have but to do as he wished.

He crossed the floor, reaching a white cabinet, and pulled out pain-relief pills, bandages, and TCP. He could sort out the cuts and bruises Terushima had inflicted on him, but his leg was a whole other story. How it had even got to such a severe stage was bugging him. He hoped Oikawa might have some idea of what he needed, because he sure as hell didn’t.

When he returned, Oikawa had one eye cracked open and trained on the doorway where he reappeared. “Where did you go?” Ushijima held up the bandages and pill bottle in response. When he got close enough Oikawa snatched the bottle and dry-swallowed four pills. The bottle said two a day for a grown man, to be taken with water, but Ushijima decided to let it slide. He then applied TCP to his cuts, trying not to tut at him for shrinking away whenever the stinging liquid touched his skin.

A bruise splayed across his cheekbone caught his eye. It was darker than the others, meaning the incident that caused it to exist had happened less recently; maybe this morning, judging by the purple undertones. Without thinking, he reached out to touch it, hand gently cupping Oikawa’s face. Oikawa started, surprised by the sudden attention, but leant into his touch after a few moments. The blush staining his cheeks was also moving up to colour his ears and the rest of his face, and Ushijima could practically feel the heat radiating of him.

“Hey. Um, you don’t seem to remember, but we met earlier.” Oikawa’s voice rung loud and clear across the previously silent flat, and his nerves were evident in his tone.

Ushijima looked at him with confusion. “No, I do remember.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” Oikawa licked his dry lips. “Is that why you helped me then?”

“No. I helped you for the same reason I help anyone: you needed help.”

“Oh.”

The quiet between them turned heavy.

“So,” Oikawa said, attempting to break the sudden tension that had descended on them. “You’re a policeman?”

“Oh, no.”

“So what was that ID I saw when you threatened Terushima?”

Ushijima rubbed his head on the back of his hand, “Just a fake. Terushima and that lot are trouble, so I have to keep an eye on them.”

“Ah.”

The tension was back.

Ushijima could tell Oikawa wanted to ask one question more than anything, but was too afraid to actually put it into words. “You want to ask me a question?”

“Yes, actually,” Oikawa bowed his head so his hair covered his eyes, creating a curtain between them and Ushijima’s piercing gaze. “What happened earlier? Why did you kiss me?” 

**Author's Note:**

> I was on a flight back from America and this idea popped into my head after seeing 7 different adverts for London, all with Buckingham Palace Beefeaters on.  
> As a British citizens, I can certify, that yes, we do have tea and scones with every meal (｡￫∀￩｡)  
> May be changed to Explicit as we go along, but we'll see.


End file.
